


Guilt

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels slightly guilty when she thinks of Saul, as though she’s being unfaithful – unfaithful to a man who has only ever kissed her once, and didn’t manage to get the hint when she tried to go further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt

It’s after a long day that Laura finds herself alone in her tent after a meeting with the members of the resistance. The meetings seemed futile, sometimes, with no sign that anything or anyone was coming to help them get off of the godsforsaken planet. Saul Tigh was the one ray of hope, always certain that Admiral Adama will come through, always convinced that they are not on this planet for good.

Her thoughts drift away from the resistance, her hands drift from their post under her chin. She feels slightly guilty when she thinks of Saul, as though she’s being unfaithful – unfaithful to a man who has only ever kissed her once, and didn’t manage to get the hint when she tried to go further. She still can’t believe that even the best New Caprican weed wasn’t enough to get Bill Adama to frak her – the one time the Admiral did not come through. And so maybe she thought about Saul Tigh, a man very much Bill’s opposite, far more similar to Richard Adar – a thought that is both repulsive and appealing to her simultaneously. It’s some semblance of normalcy, of home, before the attacks.

It’s a slight shock to her brain, this new fantasy, imagining the pale skin of Saul in the place of the darker hue of Bill’s skin, the light reflecting from his bare skull instead of Bill’s full head of hair. She can imagine Saul’s lean frame, wiry with muscle, can see the tightness around his mouth as he pushes into her. She can picture the marks left by her fingerprints in his back, slowly fading away as they catch their breath. She wonders if he would stay when they were done, if he would lay an arm possessively around her waist, or wait until she fell asleep to pull his shirt back on and button his pants. Would he even wait that long?

\---

After Ellen died, it was only a matter of time before Saul and Laura end up together, sharing a bottle of something that was clearly alcoholic, but resembled nothing Laura had ever encountered before. As the only two members of the resistance to have been put in detention so far, as the only two members of the resistance to know what it was like to have power, and to feel the pain at having it taken away, the liquid goes down with surprising ease. Ignoring the twinge at the back of her throat, she gulps a glass down. Saul has no problem tossing it back and Laura can’t really blame him.

She can’t blame him when his lips meet hers in a sloppy kiss, tasting of liquor and regret. She can’t blame him when he accidentally rips a button from her blouse – she’s gotten good at sewing them back on anyway. She can’t blame him for falling asleep before anything really happens, a small puddle of drool easing its way through her shirt, and she can’t blame herself when her arms come up to circle around this tired and fragile man.

As he sleeps, she rubs his arms, something her mother did long ago when Laura was ill, upset. His breathing is slow, steady, calming, and Laura finds herself drifting off as well. Her body sags slightly, leaning on Saul as much as he’s leaning on her. Her eyes close, she relaxes, she lets out a small hum of contentment, somehow feeling safe despite their surroundings.

\---

When they wake up in the morning, Laura is almost sure that it’s the morning after the ground-breaking ceremony and she’s again suffering from the horrible combination of weed and booze. But there’s a noise coming from the area around her armpit that is unlike any noise Bill Adama ever made; a quieter, softer noise, not the bulldozing snore of the Adama males, but a breathier blowing through the nose. Saul Tigh blearily blinks and meets her gaze with a tight smile. Her arms tighten slightly around him, she feels protective, possessive now.

“Don’t tell anyone that I fell asleep after only half a bottle of booze. I don’t think I could live it down.” He smiles a little wider then, matching Laura’s own slightly dazed grin, nudging the near-empty bottle on the floor with his dangling foot.

“As long as you don’t tell people that I’m not scintillating enough to keep you awake. Although that seems to be the case with you military men. If it doesn’t have a gun, I guess you just aren’t interested.” She tries to say this flippantly, as though her ego isn’t teetering on the edge of shattering.

“Bill’s a frakkin’ idiot.” His sheepish smile accompanying this statement is so very endearing that Laura leans slightly, uncomfortably, to place a kiss on his un-eyepatched brow. She wonders if Bill told Saul about the night of the ground-breaking ceremony, or if Saul could just guess. Maybe Bill had a history of having to be bashed over the head with romance before he understood that a woman was pursuing him. But Bill isn’t here, and Saul is. There doesn’t need to be any bashing over the head with romance, because Saul is clearly in the mood.

He pushes himself to a sitting position, out of the warm circle of her arms and looks her in the eye. She can’t imagine what it’s like for him, to be alone now, to know for certain that his wife will never return to him. If he has any reservations, they are not visible. She’s grateful for that, her hand resting lightly on his, thumb gently rubbing his palm.

“I can do better than the kiss last night.” He says it half to himself, but Laura’s sure that he can, that he will – what else would have kept Ellen Tigh coming back after all those years. She’s never known him to shy away from a challenge. Shifting slightly, she moves so they are face to face, barely inches apart. It’s a tentative kiss, as though he’s nervous that he won’t actually be able to do better. But then she feels the slight touch of his tongue and her lips part and his hands have come to play with the strands of her hair. Hers find the muscles of his arms, lean from days playing Pyramid with Sam. He pulls away first, searching her eyes. She thinks the guilt about Bill shows in her face because his eye hardens with determination, as though he wants to erase every thought of the admiral from her mind.

Carefully this time, he undoes the remainder of her buttons, removing her shirt with a sort of reverence that brings a hint of color to her face. She slides his jacket from his shoulders, finding herself eager to see the man underneath the clothes. She doesn’t feel the guilt as strongly now that she’s here, now that he’s here.

They’re in his tent, larger than Laura’s – it was meant for two people. The bed is more substantial than her cot, and for that she is thankful. His pants slip to the floor, followed quickly by hers. His one eye roams her body, taking it all in, a lascivious smile spreading over his face as he leans in to kiss her again. She lays back, content, just this once, to let him take control. He does, adeptly, slowly sliding her panties down her long legs, placing a kiss at the bend of her knee as his hands pass by. He saves her bra for last, something that men didn’t usually do. But Saul Tigh is a man with only one eye, and she thinks that he sees better than anyone her own reticence towards the body part that once betrayed her.

Finally free of all constraints, Laura gives herself over to this. She tries not to think of what Bill would do, or what he wouldn't do, tries only to think of what Saul is doing, Saul, who is actually here, who actually seems to want her. Her fingers trail up and down his back, sometimes coming down to play with the coarse gray hair that covers his chest. He kisses her collarbone, moves his way downward, but Laura stops him. Somehow it’s too intimate, somehow it’s not right. This isn’t what she needs, isn’t what she wants. She just wants him, in the most basic sense. She brings his face back up to hers, feels the familiar aching, the longing, as they kiss, doesn’t bite back the moan as he enters her. “Frakkin’ idiot,” she hears again, and knows that she isn’t the only one thinking of Bill.

She moves under him, looking straight into his eye. He meets her gaze, straightforward and sure, unrepentant. There’s no alcohol, no weed, no outside inducements for this event to occur other than that they feel a mutual need that the other is able to fill. She doesn’t even think of Bill as she comes, Saul’s name falling from her lips as easily as if it had been planned.

When they’ve finished, there is stillness in the tent. Laura is pleased that Saul seems content to hold her, to let her head rest on the cushion of his chest. He idly twists her hair between his fingers and she can’t decide if he’s thinking of Ellen, murmuring softly words that have no coherency, just soothing sounds. The sticky sweetness of their encounter makes the air feel heavy and warm, like she’s under a thick blanket, comfortable and cozy. His soft breathing blows her hair lightly, the only movement in the tent. As her eyes drift shut, she thinks that she no longer feels any guilt.  



End file.
